The Z Files
by Gorenesque
Summary: Bulma and Vegeta are two FBI agents working on the X Files. A B/V romance, but that's not the whole plot. Rating may go up.


The Z Files  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z or the X Files, nor do I own any characters mentioned from other TV shows. The only thing I own even close to any TV character is my cat, because his name is Neo. What do you expect? I'm just an X-phile. Oh yeah, no suing allowed.  
  
If you can't stomach violence and some language, you don't have to read beyond this intro.  
  
AND NOW FOR. The Z Files  
  
The pigeons swarmed as the man tossed yet another handful of crumbs. It was a cloudy evening. The kind that everybody wants to stay inside on; the kind where you just want to sleep or read a book. The overcast sky hadn't produced a single raindrop since the early morning, even though the night before it had been pouring outside. The man had decided to take a brief walk through the city, hoping this would last; as he fed the pigeons now he was in an ally next to the shabby apartment complex he had come to know as his home.  
  
And so he found himself here, feeding the rats of the sky, as his family had came to call them. His mind was distant with thoughts of today. Of how many days until his dwindling funds ran out. This morning he had taken a job interview; he had seen a commercial for an employment program on TV and decided to give it a try. He had been hoping that he would have some amazing talent that would land him into a miracle job. He could work at Capsule Corp. or something. Alas, had no real talents-or at least none that he had the chance to develop. Having grown up in a poor area of the city, he hadn't had enough money to pay for college tuition, and never received a degree.  
He tossed another handful to the birds. They started squawking again. They were lucky. They didn't have to worry about money and that crud; they had their food handed to them by the humans. 'Hah,' they probably thought, 'look at that miserable excuse for a mammals. To think things like him spend their lives worrying about green pieces of paper and digital watches. Load of imbeciles.' Then they'd go back to their lives of pecking at the ground and flying into windows.  
He sighed. "What a hole I've dug myself into. I should have gotten a scholarship."  
The birds scattered, as if they had somehow decided he was unsanitary or if he was carrying some lethal virus. For a fleeting second, he thought that they were mocking him. "Oh, so now I don't even have pigeons to talk to. Thanks a lot." He paused to breath in the air. It's night, he noted absent-mindedly; the clouds above had turned a deep purple in the dim light. Then he realized why the pigeons had left so suddenly.  
  
There was something behind him.  
  
The feeling he got then wasn't the kind you got, though, when you hear your little brother creep up on you on Halloween or when you discover that somebody's been following you for miles because you dropped your wallet. It was an eerie sensation. Suddenly the man had the feeling that soon bankruptcy was going to be the least of his worries.  
  
He started running, his feet pounding hard against the pavement; his shoes squelched as he stepped in a puddle from the night before. Something wasn't right, and he wasn't in the mood to find out what. He thought of the pigeons flying off, and suddenly the thought hit him that if anybody saw him he probably just looked like some idiot chasing pigeons. But he wasn't going to stop running, or at least not right now; he had the creepiest feeling that whatever was behind him when he feeding his lunch to the birds was chasing him now.  
  
Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back, a voice screamed in his head as he ran. He had no idea why he was so scared. All he knew was that his body had sensed something that wasn't right, and that the feeling was magnified by the growing darkness. And so he ran.  
  
Where was he?  
  
In his blind fear, he suddenly realized that he had fled somewhere far away from the complex. Somewhere dark and unfamiliar. Cars were parked sideways on the sidewalk, and shadows of men were fading into the sides of buildings covered with so much graffiti they were no longer distinguishable from the ally walls. Tartar sauce, I'm lost, he thought, and stopped.  
  
Thud.  
  
In his haste to slow down, he had slipped in a puddle. The man fell flat on his face, shockwaves of pain erupting from his palms and knees. He had skinned them in the fall, and they hurt like hell. no time to think about that. He had to get up and get up quickly. That something in the ally was nearby, he was sure about that.  
  
With some effort, he pushed himself up into a standing position. He looked around into the darkness- the only source of light nearby was a large billboard flashing 'Hercule Drinks Pepsi One' on the front, and that was hardly adequate for the world helping him to figure out where the hell he was. Curse the night.  
  
The wind rushed through the streets, sending papers and trash flying. Urban tumbleweeds, the man thought as he watched a bundle roll past him. The lack of cleanliness in the ally was sickening, and that was for a man who had grown up in the dirtiest parts of this city. The aroma of garbage reached his nose and he automatically covered it with his hand. Disgusting.  
  
Then he heard the slightest noise, one he could barely tell apart from that of the breeze. And it was terrifying-like the sound a snake makes when you get too close to it, or the sound of gas whistling out of a broken pipe.  
Damn, the man thought. Something just hissed at me.  
He heard it again and shuddered, pulling his jacket tighter over him. Like a child pulling its blankets over its head when it's afraid of monsters under its bed. A third time now he heard it. To make it worse, it began to drizzle. No, not drizzle, pour. Now he wasn't only a lost idiot, he was a soaking wet one.  
He looked down at his feet, and the lightning flashed. It was a pity he wasn't looking during that fraction of a second, when the street was illuminated by that flash. If he had been, he might have avoided quite a number of unsavory things. He might have seen the thing creeping up in the darkness behind him. He might have been able to get away, to escape.  
Escape from the long, scaly hands that wrapped around his neck.  
  
Okay people, I know that was a really short introduction, but the chapters will be longer, I promise. Please don't flame me. Sincerely, A Vegeta Worshipper 


End file.
